


Praying for Love in a Lap Dance

by Mayhem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Police Officer Derek, Prostitute Stiles, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayhem/pseuds/Mayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a police officer sent undercover to bust the suspect's Prostitution scheme. Of course, Stiles is better at his job than that. What is Derek going to do once he falls for Stiles' tricks? Or is it Stiles who has fallen for the obviously-uncomfortable-with-this-situation cop?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's Nothing Wrong With Just a Taste of What You Paid For

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tumblr user tardisandwings for the prompt: Officer!Derek/Prostitute!Stiles, pretty please?
> 
> I started out with the intent of just writing some smut, but then a story evolved around it, so here we are with a multi-part fanfic instead.
> 
> Enjoy!

This was the police work that Derek hated the most.

Give him a gun and point him in the direction of a threat, and he was all steady fingers and calm thoughts. Put him in a gang war-zone, and he was all rational thinking and quick reflexes. But put him undercover and tell him to catch a prostitute, and he was all awkward silence and uncomfortable body language.

And it certainly didn’t help when the guy was hot.

Just play it cool, Hale. Don’t give it away too early like last time.

The thing was…it wasn’t as easy as all that. Derek could blend in with civilians just fine when he was on the job, and he could even go to this ridiculous club, dance, have a beer, and all the rest with no sweat. It was the actual one-on-one time with the suspect that he had a hard time doing casually. The last job had been a disaster from the start, and he had ended up blowing his cover before they had even really gotten started. This was his last chance before he was banned from undercover work, and if there was one thing Derek Hale hated, it was failing. At anything.

His hand tightened around the glass, the ice clinking against the sides as he shifted his stance against the bar. When he had first started on the force, he had thought all prostitutes walked the streets, stood on corners, and sold themselves that way. He had been embarrassingly oblivious to the nightlife around him, the bars and clubs that catered to those who offered up their bodies for a price, the way those criminals would slink around the guests until they found their perfect target and honed in like a spider in its web trapping the fly.

Now, he was seeing it all firsthand. Some of the women looked as poisonous as vipers in their heels and elegant dresses whose cuts were just shy of obscene. There were so many fine lines in the world. Dark and light. Legal and illegal. Tipsy and drunk. Elegant and slutty.

He sighed and placed his now-empty glass on the bar top behind him. The most awkward parts of these stake-outs were always the waiting bits. He had to wait for a prospect to take interest in him, and it wasn’t that he thought himself unattractive, because he had spent a lot of time to make sure he was fit for the force, and that just so happened to mean he was filled out in all the right ways, but it was still awkward to wait for a hooker to find him attractive enough to spend time on…not to mention he was definitely not wealthy enough to afford these types of prostitutes.

Thank god his suit said otherwise.

“You look like you could use another one of those.”

Yes, that was the opening line to the most uncomfortable night of his life. He was glad, in retrospect, that his target hadn’t been female, because god only knew what a fool he would have made of himself in that case. It was bad enough to have to pretend to be interested in paid sex, let alone having to act that way towards a woman. Then again…he suspected his superiors had known and given him the smallest of breaks.

The attraction had been instantaneous, which only made him feel guilty. This young man sold his body for money. His _job_ was to have sex with people. And, in a sense, it seemed a bit obvious that he would have to be handsome, or no one would want to have sex with him, and he wouldn’t be very profitable, but Derek had foolishly expected his prior knowledge of the guy’s profession to be the most exceptional deterrent to finding him hot in any way.

He had been oh-so-wrong.

It was that smile that was somehow innocent and yet alluring. Those eyes that glowed with the promise of a fantastic night yet had the honeyed tones of a genuine soul. His features were fine enough to be beautiful, but strong enough to be masculine. It wasn’t right. It was completely and totally unfair.

“I’m going to pace myself.”

“Are you sure?” The younger male nodded at the bartender who immediately put another beer down beside Derek and handed the prostitute a glass of wine.

If Derek didn’t keep thinking of him as ‘the prostitute,’ things would go downhill and fast.

“One more won’t hurt. Trust me. You’ve been sipping on your first beer all night, and you won’t have any fun if you take life so slowly.”

Derek was shocked. “You’ve been watching me.” It wasn’t a question.

The boy answered anyway. “Yeah. You’re the hottest guy in here. Damn right, I watched you. How else would I know if someone else had already claimed you?”

“Claimed.” Again, not a question.

The boy grinned and slid a bit closer. Derek tried not to focus on how his long, slender fingers wrapped around the glass. Why was that so insanely arousing?

“Yes. Claimed. You know.” His eyes flicked up to the ceiling. Yes, the building had rooms upon rooms above the bar. A hotel, of sorts, though one for far more nefarious reasons than housing visitors to the area. No one ever stayed the full night in this hotel.

Of course, just because their chemistry had been fantastic in the beginning, hadn’t meant anything. That’s what Derek had told himself, at least. Even though the boy - _Stiles_ , he had learned his name was - had made him laugh so hard the sides of his abdomen hurt. Even though Stiles had caused him to relax and actually enjoy himself. It couldn’t have meant anything, because if it meant something, he was _fucked_.

And not in the way Stiles wanted him to be.

Derek blinked and looked at the table in front of him. The small, half-moon bench they had moved to was intimate, tucked away in one of the many, dark corners in the bar. Stiles had crawled into it like a feline. A lion. A tiger. Something predatory and lithe. Derek half-fell into the seat beside him, hating himself for having such a good time.

“This is much better than the bar stools, don’t you think?”

There were thin fingers sliding their way along his thigh.

He grunted in response.

Stiles grinned.

“I thought so, too.” His fingers moved up, and up, and up, until they were barely grazing over Derek’s crotch. He had been straining against his slacks for the better part of an hour now, and the gasp that the single touch elicited showed it. “Well, now. This is interesting.”

Yes, it _had_ been interesting. It had _also_ been interesting when Stiles had used those fingers of his to make Derek so hard it had _hurt._ It had _also_ been interesting when Stiles’ lips had pressed to the side of Derek’s neck, and they had been so soft it made his heart ache, so warm it made his stomach flip somersaults, and so full of promise that it made his head spin. It had _also_ been interesting when Stiles had shifted closer, pressing his own erection against Derek’s thigh and whispering in his ear that the first round was free for the taking.

Derek had simultaneously cursed his luck - because Stiles’ wording wasn’t enough to implicate his profession, and called Stiles on his obvious bluff.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not yet, Mr. Hale.”

Damn those fingers for being so perfect.

“How is that…lucrative in any way?”

Stiles smirked, the twist of his mouth such a huge contrast to the innocence that plagued his features. It changed his entire expression into a feral display of lust.

“Because no one ever just wants one round.”

The world was meant to be black and white. Wrong and right. But those fine lines were _everywhere_ , and Derek found himself plunged into an abyss coated in shades of morally-ambiguous gray.

It wasn’t prostitution if it was free, right? It was just sex with a stranger. A one-night stand. So it wasn’t illegal, right? It was totally okay for him to have followed Stiles into the elevator. It was perfectly fine for him to let Stiles push him against the wall, for him to let his own hands slide down Stiles’ back until they were cupping his perfect backside, for him to let Stiles press and rub himself against Derek’s body. All of that was legal, consenting, and money-free.

Derek’s feet were all too willing to carry him down the hallway towards a room that must have been Stiles’ for the night, because he pulled a key-card from his pocket and slid it through the slot. A soft click sounded, and he was pushing the door open, beckoning Derek to follow him in. As if he needed the added incentive.

“I don’t normally -”

“ _Please_ , don’t say that.” Stiles’ voice had affected a slightly-irritated tone, though his hands had ceased to be still since they had entered the rather spacious suite. And it was in fact a suite. Derek briefly noted a kitchen off to one side, while a long hallway extended down the other with a variety of doors on either side of it. Not to mention the huge sitting area they were currently facing.

His back dug into the door as Stiles pushed him until the latch clicked shut.

“But it’s true,” he gasped out as those nimble fingers were making quick work of his tie.

“Uh-huh. You’ve never done something like this before. You’re not normally the type to have a one-night stand. You typically take a guy out for dinner first before you ever even _think_ of filling him up. Is that about right?”

The sarcasm was so sharp it almost stung.

Derek’s hands came up, then, shifting from where they had been hanging loosely at his sides. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said, his own voice lower than normal with conviction, guilt, and tension as he grasped Stiles’ hands in his own, stopping his movements. “I don’t normally do this. I don’t typically have one-night stands. I _do_ tend to at least court a guy for a while before I take him back to my place. Do you have a problem with that?”

Stiles shrugged, looking up into Derek’s eyes with an amused expression. “I don’t have a problem, so long as you’re not going to be a knight in shining armor tonight.” His lips were affixed to Derek’s neck again, his hands making quick work of the buttons down the front of his shirt.

“I believe I left my proverbial shield and sword at home.” More like _gun_ and _badge_ , but close enough. Stiles chuckled softly, and when he looked back up at Derek, his pupils were blown and his grin was dark, seductive. Derek felt his mouth go dry while all the blood flooded south in his body so swiftly his head was left spinning.

_No one ever just wants one round._

Those fingers knew exactly where to touch to have Derek’s heart-rate sky-rocketing. They traced small circular patterns over his shoulders. They rubbed gently at either side of his neck. They slipped beneath the material of his shirt and pushed it down his shoulders. His tie was nowhere in sight, and he couldn’t remember when it had been taken off.

Stiles’ voice was low and rough in his ear as his palms pressed down on Derek’s arms and pushed his shirt all the way off. “Bed? Couch? Right here against the door?”

Derek groaned, his knees momentarily going weak as Stiles tugged on his earlobe with his teeth. It was surely a sin for a mouth to be so warm and inviting. He already figured he was going to hell for this, anyway. Not the sex part, no. Just…the rest of it.

Well, maybe the sex part, too.

“Bed,” he managed to choke out.

“Mm, a traditionalist. I like it.”

Derek tried to roll his eyes, but Stiles was walking away from him backwards, beckoning with a single finger, and Derek was pulled along like an invisible string connected the two. Why was he so weak? If anyone from the station could see him now…they wouldn’t even recognize him. The brooding man they had all come to know, the one with the surly attitude and quick temper, the one who was nevertheless a good officer despite his well-known fits of rage - that man seemed to have disappeared, and in his place was a bumbling man who was so wrapped up in hormones that he could barely see straight.

A growl, a legitimate _growl_ , rumbled up his throat as he stalked forward. It was high time to get things back under control. After all, he had to prove that he was worth coming back for, didn’t he? He couldn’t arrest Stiles for having sex with someone; he had to wait for the discussion of payment for services, and he had to watch his own tongue, because the wrong phrasing could ruin the whole thing. Control. Yes, he just had to be in control.

Much easier said than done, particularly as he was watching Stiles tug his shirt up and over his head, revealing all that bare flesh that was begging to be kissed and touched.

The back of Stiles’ knees hit the mattress, and he let himself fall back onto it, doing a sort of half-crawl, and half-scoot until he was positioned more or less on the center of the bed. Derek’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his hands fell to his own belt. A glimmer of smugness rippled beneath his skin as Stiles’ eyes lowered, all dark and heavy-lidded, to watch the progression of the leather through the loops.

“Let me,” Stiles breathed, and Derek moved to the edge of the bed, looking down at that pale face and fine features as the boy unzipped his slacks, sliding them slowly down his legs. “I was right. Impressive.” Derek only grunted in response, his fingers sliding through the dark brown strands of hair below him, tugging lightly against Stiles’ scalp. “I’m going to…mm…”

Derek lifted an eyebrow at the unfinished statement, but he didn’t have to wait long. Stiles mouth was suddenly pressed against his erection through the cloth of his briefs, lips parted and breath warm. “Aaah,” he moaned softly, head tilting back as he felt Stiles’ tongue press against him, his mouth warm and moist as he sucked on the head through the material. “Fuck. _Fuck._ Just…take them off.”

So much for control.

Stiles smirked, Derek could _feel_ it against his cock, and then he was pulling and shifting and adjusting, and then _freedom_.

“Shh, don’t be so eager. I can’t have you coming too soon, you know. I do want to have my own fun.”

“Here I thought it was all about me and making sure I’d come back for more.”

“Are you saying you _don’t_ want to see me blissed-out and out of my mind because of how you feel inside of me?”

Derek made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut, and his eyes flicked down immediately to find Stiles’ own. He could imagine it. The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth open and moaning, his body twitching… His cock throbbed in Stiles’ grasp.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then, with no warning, Stiles’ mouth was around him, and it was warm, and it was perfect. Derek’s fingers tightened in Stiles’ hair as his hips jolted forward without him giving them any such direction to do so, but Stiles didn’t complain. In fact, he _moaned._ His eyes - more black than brown at this point - lifted to look into Derek’s, and it was all Derek could do to not fall apart right then and there. Watching his cock disappear into that little mouth was too much. His lips were wrapped so perfectly around it, like they were made to do just that. His cheeks hollowed out in _just_ the right way with each suck. And his _tongue_.

Derek moaned low and heavy in his chest as Stiles sat perched on the end of the bed and took him down his throat like a fucking pro.

_He is a pro._

He growled at his own conscience. That was knowledge he didn’t need reminding of just then.

Now, Stiles was putting his hands to use. Nails lightly scratched up either side of his thighs. A palm brushed against his sac, cupping it. Fingers tugged lightly at the tender flesh, sending jolts of heat straight up his spine. All the while, that tongue was flicking and pressing and teasing, and those lips were tugging and pulling and brushing, and that mouth was tasting and sucking and swallowing.

“I need…to feel you…”

Stiles moaned again against his length, and Derek nearly lost it. The vibrations spoke to his very _soul_ , he was certain.

The next time he looked down, Stiles had taken away his mouth, and his lips were red and slightly swollen from their efforts. It was fucking _beautiful_.

“Then I guess you better take me.” He sounded breathless, wanton, and Derek’s insides squirmed a little at the thought that it was all for show. _He sounds that way with everyone he brings to this room. You’re not special._ It was okay, though, because after tonight, well, he’d be coming back…but only to arrest Stiles.

Yeah, because _that_ didn’t make him feel like the world’s biggest tool. _It’s your job. It’s your job. It’s your job._

Maybe it was that self-loathing rearing its ugly head, but Derek suddenly found himself equal parts angry and aroused. His hands made short work of Stiles’ slacks, and then they were gone, thrown into the oblivion of the other side of the room. No briefs. None at all. He growled out an approving sound as he climbed onto the bed, using his own body to push Stiles’ down to the mattress. He couldn’t even form a verbal response. Instead, he merely grunted and used his hands to push Stiles further up the bed, and then his mouth was on Stiles, and his tongue was seeking entrance to Stile’s mouth, and he was tasting himself there, and it was the most erotic and delicious thing he’d ever tasted - himself on Stiles’ tongue.

“Lube,” he demanded, and Stiles pushed at Derek’s arm until they had switched. He sat up, his cock erect and hovering over Derek’s abdomen as he straddled his lap. He reached for the bedside table, and Derek let his hands explore. They were so large in comparison to Stiles’ body. They dwarfed the boy’s own hands, and as he rested them on the slender hips, it almost looked like he could wrap them all the way around Stiles’ waist. There was something about that, something about seeming so much bigger and stronger. It called to a part of him, soothed it and fed it all at once.

Stiles shivered as Derek’s hands moved up along his ribs, thumbs brushing his nipples before sliding back down and wrapping strong, steady fingers around his length. He gave it a single stroke, wanting to watch the reaction, and he was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. He grinned and experimentally wrapped his thumb and first finger around the head, squeezing lightly. Another gasp.

Lube and a condom were suddenly deposited onto his chest, and he looked up into Stiles’ face, reveling in the parted lips and glossy eyes of lust. “Put it on me,” he breathed, watching Stiles’ fingers now as he ripped open the condom and shifted slightly to roll it down onto Derek’s waiting flesh.

“Mm,” he moaned softly, rocking his hips up to press into the hands that touched him. So soft, yet so firm. Perfect.

Stiles opened the tube next, squeezing some out onto his hand, and Derek swiped a single finger through it before Stiles put the rest on the condom.

His finger reached between them until he felt the rosebud entrance he was looking for. He stroked along the outside of it with the lube-covered finger, just feeling and testing. Feeding his curiosity. Stiles shivered and Derek felt him throb within the confines of his other hand. _Good._ Staring up into Stiles’ face - even though he was looking at Derek’s own cock as he began to stroke it - he slid that finger inside him.

Tight. Hot. Velvet.

He wasn’t sure which of them moaned first.

Immediately, Stiles’ hips began to move, and he was rocking himself onto Derek’s finger, working it deeper as Derek twisted and withdrew it in repetition. Then a second followed the first, and Stiles moaned a bit louder. Derek let him work himself into a frenzy, pressing back onto the fingers, thrusting up into the hand. A third joined the first two, and he thought he might come just watching the way Stiles’ cheeks flushed and his eyes darkened, the way his head tilted back and his abdomen rippled as he writhed between Derek’s hands.

“Fuck…” he breathed. He had to be inside him now. “Sit…sit on it,” he ordered, not even letting Stiles do it all the way before his hand was pulling out of him and gripping his hip, directing him over Derek’s throbbing, aching erection - already leaking.

Stiles moaned and whimpered softly, little sounds of need falling from his lips, the noises so delicious Derek wanted to lick them from his tongue. “Sit down, Stiles,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble of desire that wouldn’t be denied.

And then, he did. Inch by glorious inch, Stiles sank down onto Derek’s cock until he was fully sheathed within that tight little body. It felt better than he had anticipated, and he had expected it to feel like heaven.

He was no virgin. He was no stranger to sex. But he had never known a body could feel so good around him. Stiles was tight, but not too tight. He was hot, but not too suffocating. He was smooth, but not slick. It was… _god_ it was perfect.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Stiles moaned as Derek kept stroking him, letting his body adjust, but he couldn’t wait too long before he had to move again. It was too much to simply lie there inside Stiles. He had to _move_. His hips pulled back slightly and then rolled up, going deeper, pushing in harder. Stiles’ hands pressed down onto Derek’s abdomen as his head flew back and he moaned again. The sounds just egged Derek on, and he gripped harder onto Stiles’ hip to keep him still and in place while he pulled down and thrust back inside harder still.

“Yes, oh god, please, just like that!”

Derek moaned at the begging, and used the grip on Stiles’ hip to flip them over once more, his hands grasped Stiles’ legs and lifted them onto each of his shoulders. His eyes were dark as he pressed forward, pushing Stiles’ feet nearly to his ears as he began to move in earnest. There was no stopping him now. The arousal was thrumming through his veins like liquid fire. The need to feel every inch of Stiles there was to feel was pulsing in his brain like an individual life force that wouldn’t be denied. His entire body ached to touch more, feel more, experience it all, and the conscience that had reared up earlier was suddenly nowhere to be found. Now, all that existed inside Derek was a desperation.

He had never felt this way before, and the briefest flicker of rational thought passed through his mind. Had he been drugged? Had one of those beers held something other than hops and yeast?

Perhaps he should have been frightened when he came to the realization that he didn’t _care_.

As he rolled his hips down, and he plunged deeper into Stiles, he didn’t _care_ if he had been drugged, so long as Stiles stayed right where he was, so long as that tight hole beckoned him again and again and again, so long as Derek was thrusting into the warmth beneath him.

And it didn’t help matters that Stiles’ face was even more beautiful in the throes of bliss than Derek had imagined. A fine line of sweat beaded up on the younger male’s forehead, his features were all screwed up in the sweet ache of ecstasy. Derek hissed out between clenched teeth as nails found his back and dug ten, red lines into his skin.

Oh, but he never wanted it to stop.

“That’s it. Moan for me, Stiles. Show me how good it feels.”

Stiles _mewled_ , and it was the sexiest sound Derek had ever heard. It only made him want to fuck harder, faster, go deeper. Find that bundle of nerves and -- _ah._

Stiles’ fingers dug even harder into Derek’s shoulder blades, cutting into the skin as he cried out. Derek could feel his body so easily beneath him. He could feel the way the muscles of his back tried to arch up, but how his own legs stopped the movement. Derek pressed down harder, forcing Stiles to bend nearly in half.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” he breathed as the new angle made it even tighter, somehow. Gods, he wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate, but he didn’t think Stiles was, either.

Another flash of pride.

“Derek…mm…I… _oh_ …”

Yes, that was what he wanted. The little bits of phrases that never quite made up an entire sentence. The tiny sounds and exclamations said in whispers of need and desire.

“Hm?” He barely breathed the question on a low rumble against Stiles’ ear, his thrusts never letting up, never slacking off. Stiles had wanted to push him to come back, had he? Well, Derek was going to push Stiles past the edge first. This hadn’t started out as a pissing contest, but it had certainly devolved into one. Besides, if this was the only time Derek was going to get to fuck Stiles, he was going to make sure he came out on top.

Yes, there was that nasty competitive streak.

“Fuck you,” Stiles bit out, but the curse lost much of its effectiveness as it tripped along on the heels of another, wrecked moan.

“Come apart for me, Stiles,” Derek murmured, reaching one hand to take Stiles’ cock in his grasp once again. Stroking just as relentlessly as he pounded inside. “I want to see you shatter.”

Those honey-brown eyes locked onto blue, and Derek didn’t know what Stiles was looking for there, or what he needed, but he must have found it, because not five strokes later, he was coming.

Ribbons of white painted Stiles chest as he choked and trembled beneath Derek. His eyes slid closed, his head tilted back, and the sounds that came tumbling past his lips were so perfect that Derek vowed to commit them to memory. God, everything about his breakdown was beautiful.

The quivering muscles gripped Derek in the most delicious of ways, and it wasn’t long before his release took him over. Even as Stiles twitched one last time, Derek felt the warmth building at the base of his spine grow into a raging fire and burn him all the way through. He barely managed to jerk his hips back and rip the condom off before he came, too.

His was not nearly as breath-taking as Stiles, but he didn’t care in the slightest. It felt too good to care about the faces he might be making, or the sounds of despair and frenzied delight that burst free of his lungs. His own hand stroked him through just as he had stroked Stiles, and he emptied himself onto the mess already covering the boy’s chest and stomach.

A Jackson Pollock in white.

“God…Jesus…Fuck…”

Derek would have laughed at the string of curses and exultations in Stiles’ breathless voice if he had any breath of his own to give. Instead, he half-snorted and fell to the side, collapsing onto the bed.

“You…you know…” Stiles panted, looking over at Derek, who remained staring up at the ceiling. “I was supposed…to wow you…” He smirked and sat up.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh…now you have an attitude?” Stiles snorted and grabbed at the tissue to wipe himself off.

“Hm.”

“And you’re so eloquent.”

“Hmm.”

Stiles laughed. It was a freeing sound, and Derek couldn’t help but grin. He turned his back so Stiles wouldn’t see it as he stood up and grabbed his clothes off the floor. This night had _not_ gone how he had expected, and now he was going to have to go back to the office and make plans for the next time he’d be returning to the establishment. A lurch in his stomach urged him to make that happen sooner rather than later.

“So, when will you be back?”

Of course, Stiles was thinking of the same thing, though he doubted it was for the same reason. He wanted the money that Derek’s suit promised was waiting in an off-shores bank account. Ripe for the taking.

“Soon.”

His voice was gruffer than he would have liked, but he chalked it up to exhaustion and slid his belt back into place.

“Soon?”

He nodded.

“I hope _very_ soon.”

He paused in the act of shrugging on his shirt to take in the sight before him. Stiles was still on the bed, still naked, and he was half-reclined with absolutely no shyness whatsoever. His half-flaccid cock was still so damn appetizing, and Derek wondered briefly what it tasted like. He should have done that when he had the chance. He contemplated just doing it now, but a glance at the clock on the nightstand took that idea right out the window.

“I’m sure you say that to all your visitors.”

Stiles sat up the rest of the way, and Derek was struck with the realization of just how young he looked. What had led him to this life? Why wasn’t he off in a college somewhere, driving his professors crazy with the sarcasm and wit that flashed in his eyes with every breath? Not that Derek was thinking of his eyes still, or whatever may or may not be revealed in them.

“No.”

He froze with his tie halfway knotted. It sounded like the truth. His eyes narrowed just slightly, his head tilted, and he finished tying his tie.

“Mhm.”

Stiles shrugged as if he didn’t care whether Derek believed him or not.

“See you soon, Stiles.”

“Enjoy yourself, Derek.”

He nodded and swiftly made his way out of the suite. As soon as he was on the other side of the closed door, he leaned against the wall, heart pounding like he had just run a marathon. So what if he had been a good lay? Stiles’ job was to be a good lay. It didn’t mean anything. Neither did the entire night of laughing and jokes and tentative getting to know you questions that always preceded the finale of an eventful night like this one.

It didn’t matter that when Stiles smiled his eyes lit up with light. It didn’t matter that his hands were so slender and felt perfect draped over Derek’s thigh. It didn’t matter that he was actual a _smart_ guy who could hold an intellectual conversation with ease.

None of that mattered, because this was just another job for Stiles, and it was just another job for Derek.

That fact was pushed into his brain with every step he took towards his car. Every press of the gas pedal that pushed him closer to the station. Every tap of a key on his computer that detailed his next attempt in two weeks.

_Just a job._

_It was just a job._


	2. Our Consciences Are Always So Much Heavier Than Our Egos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. The next one will be better, and hopefully updated in a FAR more timely manner. The only thing I can think of that might require any sort of trigger warning is some hint at age play? Not even really age play, I guess, but uh..."baby boy" type things with an older adult, though Stiles is of age. I don't know. 
> 
> Enjoy, maybe? I'll update soon. Thanks for all the love!

"I'm telling you man. I think he's sick."

"Must be. He hasn't even asked for a slice of pizza, yet."

Stiles Stilinski was completely ignoring his two roommates. His pencil tapped idly on his desk as he stared at his laptop, not really seeing a single word on the screen. The only thing he saw, no matter where he looked, was a gruff face with brooding eyes full of secrets that begged to be unraveled.

His Chemistry homework might as well have been German for all the sense it was making - no thanks to the two goons behind him.

"Yup. He's sick. The last time he didn't eat pizza was when he had the flu, remember?"

"Wasn't that when your mom made brownies?"

Stiles traded the clicking of the pencil's lead for the dull _thrum-thrum_ of its eraser on the desktop.

It had been over two weeks, and he had yet to hear back from Derek.

He kept replaying their time together in his head, looking for whatever he had done wrong, but he came up empty. The sex had been...well, the sex had been _phenomenal_ , to say the least - for _both_ of them. Though he hadn't quite gotten around to doing his favorite little hook to get the prospect to come back, it had been a mind-blowing experience, and judging by the way Derek had lost control, it had been the same for him.

Stiles was good at reading people - his business relied on it - and he had read Derek correctly. He _knew_ he had.

So, _why_ hadn't he come back to the club, yet?

"Seriously, Stilinski, get your head outta your ass and eat before this heifer takes it all."

Finally, Stiles turned and leveled a semi-serious glare at Scott, his best friend and typically the _less_ annoying of his two roommates, though today he seemed to be giving Isaac a run for his money.

"Dude, I'm studying?"

Scott just looked at him.

"Seriously, man. Some of us want to pass Chem."

"Oh, come on. Take a break. How long have you been staring at your computer, anyway?"

"Yeah, and when was the last time you actually wrote anything down?"Isaac chimed in, rather unhelpfully.

"Okay, okay. If it will get the two of you to shut up, fine."

They were right, anyway. He _hadn't_ been getting any work done at all.

Tonight, he would be going back to the club. Tonight, he would stop looking for Derek. It wasn't technically hurting his business, because the world didn't stop wanting sex just because one sex worker had a specific hard-on for a specific face, but it was definitely making it less appealing.

Which was ridiculous.

Stiles had slept with many handsome men and women. It was insane that one, ruggedly-handsome man had him feeling some type of way.

Completely and utterly stupid.

But it would be okay. Tonight, he would get to the club, he would dance and woo and schmooze his clients, he would pick the best prospect, and he would make some money. That would be it.

His eyes flicked to his cell where the new message icon blinked lazily up at him. His thumb brushed across the screen as he picked up a cheesy piece of way-too-greasy pizza.

**Ms. Blake wants to see you again. Be ready at 8 p.m. sharp. - P.**

Stiles groaned inwardly and looked at the time. 6:30. At least he didn't have to rush.

Jennifer Blake was a very beautiful, _very_ wealthy woman. Though she had come into town rather abruptly, she had made no short work of showing off her stature, at least in the dark of night in the places where the seedier people flaunted wealth like it mattered. To Stiles, at least, it mattered, but only as much as his tuition and bills begged to be paid.

It was expensive, after all, to care for a parent in Eichen House.

He scarfed down the rest of his pizza and grabbed another slice to take into his room.

"What? That's it?"

He held up his phone by way of explanation, and Scott merely nodded. It wasn't a secret, what Stiles did. At least, Scott knew. Isaac was blissfully unaware. He knew Stiles worked, but he had never bothered to ask specifics. The only time he had, Stiles had shrugged it off as a shitty nighttime job that paid enough to squeak by.

Isaac also didn't know that Stiles' dad was a permanent resident in the "looney bin."

A glass of soda washed down the pizza as Stiles grabbed his keys and headed out the door. His "work" clothes were never kept in the apartment. His room at the hotel was a much easier place to store that kind of thing, and this way, he never had to worry about not having clean clothes. The hotel staff kept everything nice and tidy, and he paid them a small sum to make sure they didn't ask any questions - as did several of the other patrons of the place.

The engine of the jeep roared to life as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the streets. So, Ms. Blake wanted to see him, did she? A small grin tugged at the corner of Stiles' lips. Not because he was overly excited about seeing Ms. Blake, but because she always tipped him _so_ well for doing the particularly strange things she was into.

Stiles had his own kinks, sure, but Jennifer's list was a little...off the charts. She knew it, too, and so Stiles was always happy to oblige her more wicked of ways.

Maybe, at least, a night with her would get a certain man off his mind.

He smiled and nodded at the doorman as he drove past into the employee parking lot. The back entrance was always locked, but he had been given a key to the door that led straight to the service elevator. It wouldn't do for his clients to see him in anything less than his best attire. Presentation, after all, was everything in the business.

A quick shower, a brushing of his teeth, and a change of clothes, and Stiles was ready. He checked his supplies, he did one more once-over in the floor-length mirror in the main suite, and he left his room at twenty till 8, ready to mingle and drink until Jennifer walked in.

Of course, tonight would be the night that things didn't go exactly as planned.

His eyes found Derek's as soon as he walked in, as if there was some magnet there, as if the two were meant to find each other in crowded rooms. It was like a bad country song, but Stiles felt his face light up, regardless.

Derek, to his credit, managed to retain most of his propriety, recovering quickly from the smile that had begun to spread over his face and merely nodding in Stiles direction. There was something different about him this time, but Stiles couldn't quite figure out what it was. He shrugged it off. He had been looking forward to this night for weeks, now. Had almost given up hope that Derek would ever come back.

He was sitting at the bar again, hands clasped around his beer. Stiles walked up, merely nodding at the bartender as he placed a glass of wine down. They all knew what Stiles drank at this point.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't come back."

Derek was quiet for a moment. "I almost didn't."

Stiles tried to swallow down the sting in that remark.

"Why did you?"

"...I found myself unable to stay away."

Stiles felt a flush of pleasure curl up his spine. He _knew_ it.

All thoughts of Ms. Blake slipped away as he slid himself onto the stool next to Derek - who was barely making eye contact with him. Well, that certainly wouldn't do. Stiles' fingers reached out and gently cupped Derek's chin, his fingertips brushing through the scruff he had dreamt about for weeks, turning the other's head towards him.

"I told you," he breathed softly, "no one ever just wants one."

Derek's eyes slid closed, almost as if he was in pain, and Stiles felt his heart twist in his chest. He had the same feeling as when he had first seen Derek from across the way on their very first meeting here. This was a guy who didn't come to these sorts of places. Stiles didn't know why he was here. He didn't know what unfortunate events had brought Derek to this place where rich men and women paid for sex. Maybe his wife had died. Maybe he was an eligible bachelor who didn't want people to lie to him, say they weren't after his money, when they were. Maybe he came to sex workers because he wanted honesty. Derek _knew_ that the people here saw him as a sexy, wealthy lay - and that was all.

Oh, how desperately Stiles wanted to brush away the frown lines between Derek's eyebrows, but he couldn't. After all, he was one of the aforementioned sex workers, wasn't he?

"Come." Stiles slid off his barstool, his free hand wrapped around Derek's wrist. He grinned at the questions in Derek's eyebrows - which were, ironically, sometimes so much more expressive than the rest of his face. "Dance with me."

Derek immediately tightened his stance on the barstool, refusing to be moved.

"I don't dance."

Stiles scoffed. "Everyone dances. You just need the right partner."

Derek looked dubious, but Stiles tugged on him again, and he relented.

The beat was one of a basic tempo, the bass pulsing in a counter rhythm while some soft, electronic-sounding melody intertwined between the two. It was easy enough to dance to, and Stiles pulled Derek onto the small dance floor, arranged neatly between the bar and the tables and booths, and began to sway gently with him. He sipped his wine, closed his eyes, and let the beat take him away. His back pressed to Derek's front, he could easily feel the tension in the other male's stance. God, did this guy ever unwind?

Chuckling softly, Stiles turned, his fingers tugging on Derek's shirt, urging him to move, too, letting him see the way Stiles' hips swayed, how he rocked against Derek and then back, almost like they were having sex but with far more clothing and far less lewd movements. It was like a lover's dance of sorts, and one he knew Derek knew all too well.

Finally, _finally_ , the other started moving.

"For what it's worth," Stiles murmured as he leaned up, his lips pressed right against Derek's ear, "I'm glad you came back."

Derek merely shook his head, one hand gripping Stiles' hip while the other clutched his beer, as if it were a lifeline.

"Stiles..."

"Hm?"

He tilted his head back to look up into those dark, green eyes. Derek's mouth opened, then closed again. Stiles lifted an eyebrow as their bodies moved in tandem to the music, pulsing and gyrating slowly to the beat. Derek shook his head.

"Can we go upstairs?"

Stiles blinked in surprise. Surely, he had been about to say something else...but he wasn't going to say no. Not if Derek knew what he wanted this time.

Despite his desires, Stiles felt a twinge in his chest - just a small, barely there ache. Derek looked almost...defeated. Did he want to come back at all? He hadn't said so. He hadn't said it was good to see Stiles. He hadn't said anything like his normal customers said. _I can't wait to feel you again. I've missed you. I've missed your hands._ Nothing. Just... _I found myself unable to stay away._

"Yeah, I mean...sure, if that's what you want."

Derek didn't answer. He only turned, his fingers sliding off of Stiles' hip, and moved towards the elevator.

This was lacking the flair of the last visit. Normally, the second time around with the same customer had much more build up, because they knew they were going to have to pay for it this time, for sure. They wanted more talking, more flirting, more dancing, more drinks, etc. Derek was having none of it. He even set his mostly-full beer bottle on the bar top as they passed it. Stiles gave Boyd, the friendly bartender, a shrug as he passed him, following on Derek's heels.

When the elevator doors slid shut, it was like a storm cloud broke over their heads. Derek practically pounced on him, shoving him up roughly against the wall, his mouth attacking Stiles' like it had been starving for two weeks and was only now allowed to feast.

Stiles moaned into the kiss, his hands instantly reaching around Derek and grabbing his ass, pulling his hips closer and closer until they were grinding against each other like two teenagers in heat. Derek's lips were on his neck, then, licking and sucking and biting, his voice low as soft growls resonated against Stiles' skin. The back of his head hit the elevator wall hard as he arched up into the large, warm hands roaming over his body. Derek touched him _everywhere_ , drowning in him, until Stiles had to force him to come up for air.

His fingers tugged roughly at the strands of Derek's hair as the elevator _dinged_ their arrival onto Stiles' floor. Derek's eyes were wild as his mouth came off Stiles' neck.

"Jesus...room..." Stiles breathed, swallowing hard as lust bloomed unbidden, but very much wanted, throughout his body.

Countless customers. Endless one night stands.

Derek was the only one that made his blood come boiling to the surface so easily.

They were nearly fumbling over each other as they made their way to the room, and Stiles dropped the damn key twice trying to slide it through the door. Finally, it beeped, that green light penetrated the dim hallway, and they were inside. Derek's hands were all over him, his long, thick fingers tugging at Stiles' suit eagerly, shedding piece after piece to the floor until Stiles was standing there, clad in only his boxer-briefs, panting softly.

Derek groaned, a guttural sound, and Stiles felt a flush grow in his cheeks. No one had ever made him feel as desirable as Derek did with a single sound. It was the way his eyes raked over him, absorbing every bit of his physique, but not just his body, either. Derek stared into Stiles' eyes like he was lost. He reached up with a thumb and brushed it along his lips. Hands that had just been tearing at his clothes were now almost too gentle as they traced the line of Stiles' throat, brushed over his shoulders. Stiles felt himself hardening in his jeans, just from those simple touches alone.

He had thought it had to have been a fluke. No one could affect him _that_ much, surely. He had too much wine, or the night had been too good, or _something_.

But no.

Here he stood, barely half a glass of wine down his throat, a night just like any other, and Derek _still_ made him feel like he could flip over rooftops, jump to the moon, or dance among the stars.

"Let me touch you," he nearly begged as he moved forward, his hands slowly making their way from Derek's jawline to his broad shoulders before moving to his bowtie. It fell slowly to the floor with a simple tug. Stiles didn't spare a glance for it before his fingers moved to the buttons of Derek's shirt.

"Stiles..."

His entire body shivered as Derek moaned his name. There was surely no other sound like it on earth. He undid another button, and then another, leaning forward to kiss between each button that slid free of its loop, using it as an excuse to press his lips against Derek's chest, breathing him in, losing himself in that heat.

"More."

It was a command, and Stiles made to satisfy himself. His hands moved lower, unclasping Derek's belt as Derek slid his own shirt off his arms, letting it fall freely to the floor. Stiles lowered himself to his knees, gazing up at Derek, tongue darting out to lick over his lips as the belt tugged free of its loops. He watched as Derek's eyes darkened, his lips parting infinitesimally as he inhaled. It was so _sexy_.

"Shall I taste you again?" He murmured as Derek's slacks fell down around his ankles, his briefs showing just how ready he was.

"Stiles, shouldn't we...?"

Stiles closed his eyes, willing Derek to be quiet. He didn't want to discuss payment. For once, he wasn't thinking of the money. He wanted to lose himself in Derek for a while, to pretend like his father's health care and his own education weren't riding on the cusp of him getting laid _one more time_.

"Quite the romantic," he murmured dryly, his hand shaping over Derek's cock where it pressed so hard against his briefs. "But if we must..." He felt Derek go very, very still, and he refused to look up into his face as he summoned the terms from memory. "My general terms of service are..."

"Why, if it isn't Officer Hale..."

Stiles froze.

Derek froze.

Stiles knew that voice. How many times had she cooed softly to him that he had been such a _good boy_ for her? He rose to his feet and turned very, very slowly. Jennifer Blake was sitting on the couch on the other side of the sitting room, almost completely shrouded in shadows.  Of course, they hadn't noticed her, practically rutting against each other as they had been.

"Here, I thought I had booked you for the night, baby boy."

It was only then that her first sentence fully registered in Stiles' mind.

_Officer Hale._

_Officer Hale._

_Derek was a cop._

Two things happened then in very quick succession.

First, Stiles felt his heart shatter into a million pieces, which in itself didn't make any sense, because he really hardly knew this man.

Second, Derek dressed himself faster than was humanly possible, pulling a badge out of his slacks pocket.

Stiles couldn't believe it.

"Stiles Stilinski," Derek began, and Stiles felt the blood drain from his face as anger burst through his veins. "You are under arrest for..."

"Just don't."

Of course. _Of course._

How could he have been so stupid? He should have known the one person that he found himself vaguely attached to would have been... _god_. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was stupid. And now, who knew what would happen to his father? There went his college education. How was he going to pay for it, now? Would they take away money he'd already spent? No, no. That didn't make sense.

"Don't?"

"Yeah, don't even bother." His voice sounded disgusted, even to his own ears. "I know what you're going to say. I know how the whole spiel goes."

Derek shifted, and he at least had the grace to look ashamed of himself. Stiles was too mad to care. He didn't even know who he was mad at more - himself, for being so naive and oblivious, or Derek, for...doing his job and being so convincing.

"Can I at least get my clothes back on before you take me out of here?"

"Of course."

Stiles snorted. _Of course._

"Thanks." He bent down and snatched his clothes violently off the ground, shoving them on without looking Derek in the eye.

His heart wasn't breaking.

Dammit, it _wasn't._

"Ah, but _is_ he under arrest?"

Ms. Blake's voice interrupted the uncomfortable silence, and Stiles had never wanted to punch a woman in the face before that moment.

He didn’t turn and look at her. His hands were buttoning his shirt as he stared with open hostility into Derek’s face. Derek, however, blinked in surprise, his gaze focusing on the dimly-lit corner. Suspicion flashed across his features before he hid it behind a cool mask, and Stiles couldn’t help but narrow his eyes even further as he saw just how easy it was for Derek to do that.

To hide his feelings.

No wonder he was an undercover cop.

_Of course._

Snorting, he shook his head as his fingers made swift work of the buttons before stooping to slip his shoes back onto his feet.

“What do you mean? Of course, he’s under arrest.”

_Of course._

Stiles was _really_ starting to hate those two words.

“Under what charges?”

Derek’s face tightened _just_ slightly. “Prostitution.”

“Oh? From what I saw, the two of you were merely kissing and gradually spiraling into a state of messy undress. There was no talk of monetary value in exchange for any sort of favors that I heard.”

Derek frowned, and Stiles became very, very still once more. He had started to…but had he said the words? Had Derek jumped the gun?

“No,” Derek’s voice was stern, but thoughtful all at once. “He was telling me his terms of service.”

“Yes, he said those three words: terms of service, but he didn’t tell you what his terms were, or for what service, did he?”Stiles turned slightly, noticing with some disquiet that Jennifer had risen from her seat, her eyes sparkling somewhat eerily in the shadows where she still stood. “For all you know, Officer Hale, he could have been reciting the terms he would require were he to open an advising service, or perhaps a TV repair service, or anything else under the sun. Not once did Mr. Stilinski, here, indicate he was going to have sex with you for any given amount of money.” The smuggest of smiles stretched across the woman’s lips as she strode forward gracefully, and Stiles caught a glimpse of leather beneath her silken robe. Oh, he was going to owe her for this - big time.

Derek was silent, and when Stiles looked back up at him, he found his face had clouded over in some blend of distress and anger.

Not a single trace of relief was there. Not one.

“You know I am right, Officer. Why don’t you just cut your losses for tonight, get out of this club, and never come back?”Jennifer was directly beside them, now, and her arm draped over Stiles’ shoulders in a possessive manner he had come to expect from her at this point. Slowly, but firmly, she drew him into her side, her long, thin fingers threading through his hair. “My baby boy is stressed now, isn’t he? Would he like a bath?”

Stiles felt himself tugged towards that part of his psyche that he had to tap into for Jennifer’s sessions, but the majority of him stayed rooted in place, staring Derek down as the _officer’s_ eyes went from Stiles’ hair to Jennifer’s hand and finally, _finally_ , meeting Stiles’ eyes.

There was a flash of something in the green depths of Derek’s gaze, but Stiles didn’t quite catch what it was before it was gone, replaced by the cool, aloof exterior that he had seen on just about every cop he’d had the pleasure of meeting.

“Baby boy is very stressed, ma’am,” he purred, firmly tearing his eyes away from Derek’s face to nuzzle into Jennifer’s neck, running his nose along the expanse of her throat. “A bath would be perfect…with bubbles?”

His tone shifted slightly to the more playful one he affected with her. He could play this game. If Derek wanted to waltz in here and flash his badge around, if Derek wanted to take Stiles’ trust and shatter it on the ground, if Derek wanted to _arrest_ him, well…Stiles would just have to make sure he wasn’t the only one left with an aching chest and betrayal in his irises.

He didn’t look up as Derek left. He didn’t acknowledge that last words he said before the door shut behind him. It wasn’t until he heard the lock click automatically into place that he dared glance up. And it wasn’t until he was stripping once again and walking towards the suite’s bathroom that he let himself hear the words, the threat, that had hung so thickly in the air.

_I know what you are, Stilinski._

His eyes slid closed as Jennifer started the bath water and the rest of his clothes joined the others on the floor. When he opened them again, he was facing himself in the bathroom mirror, steam already beginning to cloud it from the sheer heat of the water pouring from the faucet.

_I know what you are, and it **disgusts** me._

Stiles swallowed hard, forcing everything down into his gut where it could stew and wait until he had the time and energy to think about it.

He eased himself into the bath, the warm, lightly-scented water instantly soothing him as the bubbles covered him from neck to toe. Jennifer knelt beside him, and though it wasn’t her face he had wanted to see tonight, she, at least, knew what he was and had no unreal expectations of him. She would bathe him, pamper him, tie him up. She would have him fuck her in a myriad of different, ever-kinkier ways. She would leave a hefty sum for him when he had passed out from exhaustion.

It wasn’t how he had planned his night to go once he had seen that traitorous bastard’s face in the club, but it was a hell of a lot better than prison.

He held back a snort as he sunk slightly deeper into the bubbly water to cover the sting of Derek’s words.

He just wouldn’t think about it.

That was all.

“Is my baby boy nice and cozy?”

Immediately, the best, fake smile flittered over Stiles’ lips. Acting, after all, was such a large part of his profession. He did it flawlessly.

“Baby boy has never been better, Mistress.”

“You want Mistress to erase that big, ol’ nasty man from your mind?”

Stiles nodded without hesitation.

“Mistress knows best.”

“That’s right, baby,” she cooed as the washrag slid down his shoulder and into the water, going down further and further until the soft material ghosted across his cock. “Mistress always knows best.”


End file.
